


I Missed Your Skin When You Were East

by WildnessBecomesYou



Series: Music is Not the Food of Love, but the Messenger [10]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon, Songfic, South Downs Cottage, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-19 20:48:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19363906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildnessBecomesYou/pseuds/WildnessBecomesYou
Summary: Sugarcane in the easy morningWeathervanes my one and lonelyHey moon, please forget to fall downHey moon, don't you go downYou are at the top of my lungsDrawn to the ones who never yawnAziraphale returns back from travel. He brings back sugarcane and cuddles.





	I Missed Your Skin When You Were East

**Author's Note:**

> Based on Northern Downpour by Panic! at the Disco. 
> 
> It's so fluffy I can't stand it.

Crowley wakes to a cup of tea on the table on his side of the bed, and can’t help but smile at the little tray Aziraphale had set for him. He sat up, stretched, sipped his tea, and clamped the raw sugarcane stick between the teeth on the right side of his jaw. As he rolled it around between his molars, he began looking around for Aziraphale. 

The angel appeared in the doorway, face full of tender smile, hands cupped around a white mug with angel wings. 

“Hey,” Crowley croaked, “how was your flight?” 

“Oh, long. A little pretty.” Aziraphale murmured, moving closer to the bed, taking another sip of his tea. 

“How’s your wings, then?”

He sighed as he sat down on the bed, kicking off slippers. “Tired. Shoulders a little sore, but otherwise no worse for wear.” 

Crowley removed the sugar cane from between his teeth, flipped it around, and continued chewing on the fresh side. “C’mere then.” 

Aziraphale set down his tea and scooted closer to Crowley, who had already begun to move up to the headboard. He let Crowley pull him to lean back, lift off the shirt he’d been wearing. 

Crowley dug his thumbs into his husband’s trapezius. Aziraphale inhaled, then exhaled heavily, leaning back into the touch. “That feels very nice, dearest.” 

“Mmmm.” Crowley leaned forward to press a kiss to his angel’s shoulder. “Y’could’a woke me up when you got home.” 

“You were sleeping. Rather figured I’d join you, at least for a bit.” He tipped his head back to rest against the demon’s. “Besides, you looked so peaceful, it was hard to imagine myself interrupting that.” 

“You’d have been welcomed,” Crowley murmured. 

He delivered sentiments of love this way. He still couldn’t scream them the way he wanted to, the way Aziraphale seemed to be able to boom them out across miles. The love still built up, still felt like it was flooding his lungs.

Aziraphale smiled, turned his head in a slightly awkward position to press a kiss to the demon’s nose. He was still learning to accept these murmured sentiments. 

Crowley continued to massage the muscles in the angel’s back, pressing his knuckles against skin to achieve more surface area. They spent a moment of comfortable quiet, relaxing in each other’s company. “Tell me what you learned,” Crowley requested.

Aziraphale hummed a moment before he responded, spinning tales older than they had right to be from the East, oldest in India. Aziraphale talked with his hands. Crowley could almost see the stories playing out before them as he did. Aziraphale so thirsted over knowledge, never content to spend his time waiting for the next discovery, but fueling those who _wanted_ to know to go and find it. Crowley supposed that was part of why he was so drawn to the angel. 

They didn’t need rings. But shortly after they’d moved into this cottage, Crowley had come back from Canada with two; matching twisted gimmel rings, a red stone atop the center ring and a snakehead atop the other two. Aziraphale had gasped happily and set to examining them, chattering happily about the craftsmanship behind it. Crowley had rolled his eyes fondly and slipped the ring on Aziraphale’s finger. 

Aziraphale was playing with the ring now, uncoupling the rings, flipping them over, re-coupling them, and sliding it back on his finger. Crowley paused in his massage and pressed a kiss to a captured hand. Aziraphale hummed contentedly in response, closing his eyes and letting his head loll to the side to rest on Crowley’s shoulder. 

“Thought you wouldn’t be back ‘till tomorrow,” Crowley said, “not that I’m complaining.” 

“I didn’t fancy flying through rain.” 

On cue, gentle rain began falling, little pings on the roof of their cottage, ridiculous weathervane squeaking as it turned. 

“Ah, there it is,” the angel mused, “heard it’s coming from up north.” 

“Sure.” 

At some point, he set aside the sugarcane. At some point, tea grew cold, and breaths grew long, and the pair dozed with arms wrapped around each other in early-morning quiet. 

Crowley woke first this time, a rare occasion. Unlike the angel, he liked to be still, so he let his eyes roam over the angel’s sleeping form. He was, you know, rather angelic. But he was also a bit of a bastard. 

He smiled at that, reaching up to trace over the lines of the angel’s nose, cheeks, jaw. He thought of the letters he would get whenever Aziraphale needed to travel. The bursts of energy in the writing, the reminder that each letter meant one less day until Crowley saw him next; his angel’s marveling at any new piece of knowledge, the notes of home in the way he signed each letter— 

_“Sending all my love, dearest, you know it’s yours,_

_Aziraphale”_

Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered open as Crowley’s fingers flitted down his neck. He smiled again, lines by his eyes crinkling as he did. Crowley reached up to smooth them with a thumb. The angel grasped his wrist and pressed his lips there, smiling as he did. 

“Do you suppose we’ll be leaving bed today?” 

Crowley hooked a leg over Aziraphale’s waist. “You’ve already left bed. Besides, it’s raining.” 

He knew he would get an indulgent smile back, knew Aziraphale’s lips would curl up and then brush his own. 

In truth, they’d leave bed. Eventually. They would probably have dinner at the new restaurant that had opened after Aziraphale had left for India, eating outside even if it were still raining. But right now Crowley wanted to ignore the world and it’s problems. He wanted his little home with his angel, wanted to feel the touches he’d missed. He wanted the warming, soothing presence, gentle words of love, peaceful waves of contentment. 

Aziraphale ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair. “Growing it out, my dear?” 

Crowley grunted softly, less an answer than an acknowledgment of the question. With all the time in the world, Crowley thought, I wonder how long it could get?

The rain pattered on outside, and Crowley could see over Aziraphale’s shoulder the way it bounced off the window panes. He ran his hand up and down Aziraphale’s arm, skating over the skin, feeling how soft he was. 

Like petals on a flower. 

“Hmmm?” Aziraphale asked, humor touching his eyes, fingers perched delicately on Crowley’s collarbone. 

“Missed you.” 

“I missed you, too, dear.” 

Crowley pushed his face forward to touch foreheads and noses with the angel, and Aziraphale rubbed their noses together. Crowley almost scoffed. 

“Fancy I’ll want a walk, later,” Crowley murmured instead. 

“Later,” Aziraphale agreed. 

They had all the time in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Gimmel rings are really a thing-- my mother had one when I was a kid, and I would play with it like a puzzle, pulling the rings apart, twisting them back together. They're meant to represent the joining of two souls into one soul. 
> 
> Thought that fit the Ineffable Boys.


End file.
